


Corn Chips and Cats

by avislightwing



Series: Locked Up [2]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: (not really but he needs to work on it), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Mob Boss!Rhys, Multi, Rhys is a Bad Boyfriend, Secretary!Lucien, The Author Regrets Nothing, Trash Daughter!Feyre, nothing is canon, so apparently I'm continuing this trash fire, the usual ya know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-12-30 00:50:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12097098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avislightwing/pseuds/avislightwing
Summary: A continuation of Locked Up, ish. Feat. Amor, a terrible abstract painting, and much drama.





	1. Chapter 1

The doorbell rang, and Lucien didn’t want to answer it, so he threw a corn chip at Feyre.

“Stop it, Lucien. I’m still trying to figure out what this is supposed to be.” Feyre was squinting at a large painting leaning against the wall. “I think that bit over there is supposed to be Rhys’s dick. I think. And the black fluffy stuff at the top is his hair?”

The doorbell rang again. “Feyre,” Lucien said. “Answer the door.”

“You answer it. I’m working on a scathing artistic critique for when Rhys comes back and asks me what I think of the painting.”

“I can’t. Jessie and Andy are on my lap.” Well, lap was a bit of an exaggeration. Lucien was sprawled on the couch, and the cats were draped over about half of his lanky frame. They were purring, and didn’t show signs of moving anytime soon.

Feyre heaved a sigh, rolled her eyes, and stomped over to the door, flinging it open with a level of drama that impressed even Lucien. But then, she was learning from the best.

“Feyre!” The woman at the door swooned even more dramatically than Feyre had opened the door, and Feyre had to catch her before she hit the floor. “And Lucien! Thank goodness! I have an emergency!”

“What kind of emergency? A fashion emergency? A Rhys emergency?” Lucien asked, still not moving from his place on the couch.

“A date emergency!”

Lucien clicked his tongue. “The worst kind. So, what is it this time, Mor? Do you want me to hotwire Rhys’s Ferrari so you can take your girl out in style, or do you need to borrow my mousse?”

“I need you two to skulk in the background on her date to make sure she doesn’t kill me,” Mor said, righting herself and patting Feyre’s shoulder fondly.

“You think that’s a possibility?”

“Well, Rhys introduced us,” Mor explained, taking a seat on the edge of the couch and scratching Jessie’s head, “and she wears those nice Italian suits Rhys does when he tells you to not call him for a couple hours. Plus, she looks kinda scary, in a hot way.”

“Scary in a hot way is my specialty,” Lucien said. “Where are you going? I could take Feyre on a date too. Rhys is one up on me, and we can’t have that.”

Mor rolled her eyes. “No, of course not. We’re going out for sushi, I know that much.”

“You mean there’s a part you don’t know?” Feyre said. She was looking at the painting again. Carefully, she picked it up, turned it upside down, and studied it once more. “Mor, what does this look like to you?”

“It looks like Rhys commissioned an abstract nude portrait of himself,” Mor responded immediately. “But upside down. Also, his dick is _not_ that big.”

“That’s what I thought it was.” Feyre turned the painting rightside-up. “Again, I ask, there’s a part to the date you don’t know?”

“She said she wanted to surprise me.” Mor sounded mournful. “I don’t even know what to wear.”

“Did you ask Rhys for advice?”

“God, no,” Mor said, rolling her eyes and pulling Jessie onto her lap. “I’ve tried that before. He always says, ‘What’s the sluttiest thing you own? You should wear something really slutty.’ Which isn’t helpful at all.”

Lucien laughed as Feyre looked mildly outraged. “Well, that’s his style, so I suppose you can’t blame him for that. Besides scary but hot and dressed in Italian suits, what’s this woman like?”

Mor leaned back against Lucien’s legs. “Shortish. Black hair. Grey eyes. Wears a lot of jewelry but no makeup.”

“How about your red silk, then?” Lucien suggested. “And bring a change of clothes and shoes in case things get out of hand. So, you know, you can run away while we distract her, right?”

“My noble sacrifices,” Mor said.

“Rhys’ll kill you if you get us killed,” Feyre pointed out. “Do you think it needs a mustache?” she added, referring to the portrait.

“A blue one, yeah. And maybe some underwear.” Feyre nodded, and wandered into the next room to fetch her paints. “I’m not going to get you killed,” Mor added. “Rhys will probably be more upset that you went out to sushi without him.”

“He deserves it for this monstrosity,” Lucien said, gesturing at the painting. “And that was an apology gift.”

Mor groaned. “What did he do this time?”

“We aren’t really sure,” Feyre said, reappearing with a tube of blue paint, a palette, and a brush. “But Lucien woke up on Tuesday night on the roof of the thirty-story office building on Lexington with his hair in little braids and no memory of how he got there, and we think it was Rhys’s fault.”

“Where were you?” Mor asked curiously.

“Asleep,” Feyre said. She squirted some of the blue paint onto her palette, dipped the brush in it, and looked at the painting pensively. “Handlebar, do you think?”

“Absolutely. Why were you asleep?”

“’Cause I was tired and Rhys’s party was boring and my feet hurt. So I took a cab home and crashed on the couch.” Feyre bit the end of her paintbrush in thought, then carefully dabbed blue onto what she assumed was Rhys’s face.

“And you were still there?” Mor asked, turning to Lucien.

“Yeah, drunk,” Lucien said. “And Rhys was making a bunch of long fucking speeches, you know, like he does. Can’t remember what half of them were about. How great of a person he is, probably, and how rich he is, and how attractive he is. You know. The usual.”

Mor snickered. “Yeah, I know. What do you _think_ happened?”

“Well, my guess is that Rhys thought it would be nice to kiss on a rooftop under the stars, ‘cause you know how he gets really romantic when he’s drunk? And sappy, and whatever? It would explain both the roof and the braids. And then he probably had to go do some mob-boss shit and didn’t remember to come back and get me.”

“I had to go find him myself,” Feyre put in, now painting blue boxers on the portrait. “Man, he was pissed. Didn’t talk to Rhys for three days. That’s when we got this.” She poked at the painting, getting a smear of blue paint on what was presumably Rhys’s bare chest. “ _I_ could paint better than this.”

“For shame.” Mor shook her head solemnly. “He should’ve sent you something sensible, like a hangover cure, or more corn chips. You must be nearly out by now.”

Lucien threw one at her. “They’re just too aerodynamic. And delicious. By the way, did you know we’re still wanted in three states?”

“Lame. I’m wanted in five. I bet Amren – that’s my date – is wanted in more,” Mor said thoughtfully. “I should ask her.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” This time Feyre poked her paintbrush at Mor, getting a dab of blue on her nose. “That’s not first-date material. Even I know that.”

“I dunno. I think it’s a perfectly reasonable question,” Lucien said as Andy stood up, stretched, and decided the new most comfy place to be was the upper half of Lucien’s face. “Get off, fuzzball.”

“Don’t be mean to him.” Mor scooped the offending cat up and cuddled him. “It’s not his fault your face is a good place to sit.”

Feyre snorted at this, shooting Lucien a grin. “Don’t,” he warned her. “Don’t even think about it. Shut up. Whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

“That’s what she said,” Feyre whispered, then cracked up. “Oh, man, I have to remember that one so I can tell Rhys.”

“If he ever comes back. He’s been gone for _days_ ,” Lucien complained. “He hasn’t given me a single opportunity to yell at him for abandoning me on a rooftop. Though now that I think about it –”

“– that’s probably why he’s been gone,” Mor finished. “Well, if you can’t yell at him in person, the next-best thing is to double date with me without him, right? Pleeeeaaaaase?”

Lucien looked at Feyre. “Well, love? What do you think?”

Feyre set down her paintbrush. “I don’t have anything better to do,” she decided. “Let’s get sushi with Mor and her killer girlfriend.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More ridiculous fluff. As always with this series, entirely unedited. Don't judge me.

“I don’t think she needs us,” Feyre told Lucien in a carrying whisper.

Amren, deadly mob enforcer, silver eyes mirroring the hoops in her ears, was draped with children like a Christmas tree. Mor, in her terribly scandalous silk dress, was trying not to laugh. Feyre and Lucien, skulking behind a car in the parking lot, weren’t succeeding at all in this same endeavor.

“Lovely to see you, Mor,” Amren deadpanned. Her Italian suit was looking decidedly rumpled. “Sorry about the munchkins.”

“Are they… yours?” Mor asked delicately.

“Good grief, no. My sister’s.” Amren raised her eyes to heaven. “She turned up an hour ago with a sob story about her babysitter cancelling last-minute. She gave me puppy dog-eyes. I couldn’t refuse.”

Mor couldn’t suppress a snort, and once the dam was broken, she dissolved into giggles. “Well, luckily for us, I brought babysitters. Feyre? Lucien?”

Feyre and Lucien made a reluctant appearance from behind the car. “I don’t want to,” Feyre complained as Lucien dragged her over. “Kids are so not my thing.”

“Too bad.” Lucien untangled what was either four or fifteen hundred children from Amren and hung them on himself instead. “Ow. Not the hair, please. OW – or the earrings. You owe me, Mor.”

“Thanks a bunch!” Mor said cheerily. Amren straightened her clothes, took Mor’s arm, and escorted her into the restaurant.

“Lucien!” Feyre wailed, holding a small child around the waist. “They’re everywhere!”

“Food – ow,” Lucien said. “Not sushi.”

“McDonald’s?”

“No! Grocery store,” Lucien decided. “We’ll get the gremlins animal crackers and juice boxes. You’ll like that, won’t you?” he added to the children.

“Yay!” they yelled, the one on Lucien’s shoulders pulling on his hair with glee.

“What did I tell you about my hair?” Lucien moaned. “You’re going to get stuck in there.”

“You’re talking about stuck?” Feyre complained. “This one is covered in something and I don’t know what the something is. I don’t _want_ to know.”

“There’s a store around the corner – we can go there,” Lucien said, gathering up the three children in his charge, leaving Feyre with her one. “Thank God. We have to walk – I don’t have four carseats.”

Feyre agree reluctantly, and they towed their tiny charges into the small grocery store. Despite the fact that Lucien had three times more children than she did, she fell behind and had to catch up with him in the soda aisle. He was scowling, and not just because his hair now looked remarkably like an orange bird’s nest.

“Not a single organic option,” he told Feyre. “I can’t believe it.”

“Oh, come on, Loosh, they’re kids, they don’t care,” Feyre said, starting to grab apple juice boxes off the shelf.

“It’s you.”

At the sound of the new voice, Feyre and Lucien turned simultaneously toward the entrance to the aisle. Feyre swore like a sailor, and the kids began repeating it in a loud chant.

It was Sheriff Tom Lint.

_[dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn]_

Lucien groaned. “Okay, ew. What’s this asshole doing here?”

“Language!” Feyre said. “There are children around!”

“Feyre, you literally just said ‘fuck,’” Lucien countered, causing the kids to chant the word even louder.

“I’ve been hunting you down!” Tom Lint said, pointing angrily at Feyre and Lucien. “You’re wanted in three separate states!”

“Told you,” Lucien said. “Oh, shit, duck!” They both ducked as Sheriff Lint threw a jar of grape jelly at them. It hit the floor and purple went everywhere. Feyre’s charge immediately started smearing the jelly all over her face, making it even more sticky than it was before.

“Run! He’s got a carton of eggs!” Feyre and Lucien took off in different directions, tugging the children after them.

Feyre had just turned down the breakfast cereal aisle when she ran headlong into someone. “Hey! Watch where you’re – oh. Hi, Rhys. What are you doing here?” She tried to brush his suit jacket off and only succeeded in getting grape jelly and egg all down his front.

“Hello, Feyre darling.” Rhys scooped up the child Feyre had with her, heedless of stickiness. “I was keeping an eye on Amren and Mor. And then I wanted to make sure her nieces and nephews didn’t kill you. They’re quite as dangerous as she is. Mind if I ask why you’re hurtling through the cereal aisle and crashing into innocent shoppers?”

“Okay, first of all, you’re not an innocent shopper, and second of all, Pocket Lint somehow tracked us down,” Feyre said, outraged.

At that moment, there came a long, high-pitched yell of “NOOOOOOOOO!” from the front of the store.

“Ah, the sweet sound of Ginny being separated from a head of hair she likes,” Rhys said blithely, swinging the child in his arms onto his shoulders, where she clung to him and babbled an indistinct string of words and sounds. “Let’s go rescue our boyfriend from the well-meaning clutches of small-town hickery, shall we?”

“He’s still mad at you, you know,” Feyre said, following after Rhys. “And the painting didn’t help. It’s terrible. I painted a mustache on it.”

“And improved it exponentially, I’m certain. Well, perhaps little Lucien will forgive me when I swoop in and save him.” Rhys, as he said, swept down the aisle to see a furious Tom Lint towering over a glowering Lucien, a wailing Ginny, and two slightly older children clinging to Lucien’s legs.

“What appears to be the trouble here?” Rhys asked grandly, managing to seem dramatic and imposing even coated in grape jelly and egg yolk.

“He’s trying to arrest me,” Lucien said, poking a finger into Officer Lint’s chest.

“For what?”

“Car theft – bribery – all kinds of things!” Lint blustered.

“I see.” Rhys seemed to consider that. “Where?”

“Where?” Lint repeated, confused.

“Where is he wanted for these things?”

“Virginia, Vermont, Oklahoma –”

“Oklahoma?” Rhys said in faint surprise. “When was this, Lu?”

“Three months ago, when you went on that company cruise, remember?”

Rhys’s expression cleared. “Ah, right. You went to that strip club and ended up calling me at midnight because you missed me too much to enjoy yourself.”

Lint’s face was turning red. “I was talking!”

“And I wasn’t listening,” Rhys interrupted. “Is Lucien wanted for any of these dire crimes in New York?”

“…No.”

“Were you approved to arrest him in New York?” Rhys pressed.

“I suppose not,” Lint said petulantly.

“Then I’d like you to get out of my city,” Rhys said. His teasing tone was suddenly gone, and he looked quite as dangerous as Amren. “And stop bothering my boyfriend, you twit.”

With a growl, Sheriff Lint turned on his heel and stormed out of the store, closely followed by the store manager, who was insisting he pay for the things he smashed and never come back.

Rhys turned to Lucien with a hopeful look on his face. “Well? Am I forgiven?”

In response, Lucien threw his arms around Rhys’s neck and kissed him full on the mouth. Ginny shrieked and grabbed onto Lucien’s hair to hold on. Rhys immediately pulled back, lifted her down to join her siblings, did the same with the child on his own shoulders, then swept Lucien into his arms and kissed him back enthusiastically.

“How come he gets the big welcome?” Feyre said, though she was grinning. “Lucien, you still owe me sushi, and Rhys owes me a kiss.”

Rhys broke from Lucien to peck Feyre on the cheek. “Better?”

“Much, but I’m hungry.”

“Let’s fix that, then. Do you think they’d like a boat ride?” Rhys asked, gesturing at the kids. They cheered.

“Amren is going to kill us,” Lucien said.

“They’ll be safe,” Rhys reassured him. “In fact, we can return them to her sister tonight so Amren can stay with Mor. Which she’ll want to, I’m sure. Juice boxes and sushi for everyone!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, Rhys doesn't love Lucien more than Feyre, but Feyre is still rather wary of him. (He can be scary, okay?)

**Author's Note:**

> you asked for it.
> 
> This fic is also on my tumblr at birdiethebibliophile!


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